


Pale Ink

by lalamoped



Series: Calhoun Siblings [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Body Paint, M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11121132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalamoped/pseuds/lalamoped
Summary: Joshua Graham prepares M!Courier for a tribal celebration.Originally Posted 10-24-13 on the kinkmeme.





	Pale Ink

It was some kind of celebration or ritual, as far as Cal could tell from what he’d pieced together of the Dead Horses’ explanations (in that language of theirs, of which he only understood every third word). Something about springtime, by Follows-Chalk’s clarification, which had then been bred with what Joshua called “Easter” to create this bastardized holiday that they referred to as _Eostar_.

Cal wasn’t one for tradition or religion, unless that religion revolved around what one could do with a gun in one hand and a bottle of booze in the other (which, it turned out, was _a lot_ ). When it came down to it, he couldn’t believe that there was an invisible man in the sky, watching over everyone. How could he when all anyone seemed to do in this awful world was die horribly? Despite his aversion to tradition, though, he owed the Dead Horse and Sorrows tribes his life after his convoy had been slaughtered by the White Legs, and he had been left barely conscious enough to shoot his assailants and drag himself across the bridge to the other side of the cavern. He blacked out after that, awakening several hours later to find himself in the Dead Horses’ camp with a healer rubbing powder into his wounds.

“Hmm,” Joshua hummed behind Cal, jarring him from his thoughts. For a minute, he’d forgotten the bandaged man was in the cave with him. “Something doesn’t look right.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cal said sarcastically, looking down at his body, at innumerable scars and skin that stubbornly refused to darken even after years of traipsing the Mojave. “Just a pale, hairy redhead in a loincloth. Nothing amiss here,” he looked to the stalactites self-consciously. Cal wasn’t usually shy about his body, but he felt so _naked_ in the tribal garb. It didn’t help that Joshua was watching him so intently. Predatorily, almost. Cal shivered.

Joshua chuckled, “You do seem a bit underdressed. Come here.” His icy eyes didn’t leave Cal’s face as the courier did as he was told. “As a brother to our tribes, it is only fair that you be marked as such.”

If Cal had a witty retort, it died on his tongue when Joshua produced a vial of ink and twisted the cap off. He dipped a bandaged finger inside and stood, his face suddenly level with Cal’s as he began to draw designs on the courier’s skin, starting at his forehead.

“Do you know what these markings mean, Gale?”

Cal ignored the question, “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Because it is your name, foremost,” Joshua answered, his rough voice like silk in Cal’s ears. “But also because I once knew a Calhoun. Bill?” Joshua’s voice took on a curious lilt when he mentioned the name, and he flicked his gaze away from his work to meet Cal’s eyes momentarily. He then shook his head, “No, I don’t suppose you’d know him.”

“It’s a common surname,” Cal responded uncharacteristically meekly. There was that _look_ again, and it frightened and excited him in equal parts.

Joshua nodded, accepting the statement and went back to dragging his ink-dampened index finger down past Cal’s chin and to his neck. The bandages were rough on Cal’s sensitive flesh, and the cool ink made him break out in goose pimples. Joshua’s strokes were methodical, his pattern practiced and precise, and Cal prayed to Joshua’s God for something—anything—to distract him from the stirring heat in the pit of his stomach.

“These markings symbolize your place among the tribe,” Joshua started talking again, which didn’t help much to quell the rising arousal in Cal’s veins. “The subtle variations can say a million different things about you, from who your parents are to how well you hunt.”

“What will mine say?”

“That you are a friend whom we have much to thank for,” Joshua answered, drawing bands on Cal’s arms. “If not for you, the White Legs would still be terrorizing Zion.”

“It’ll say all that?” Cal teased and hoped that he didn’t sound as breathless to Joshua as he did to himself. Ugh, what was _wrong_ with him?! He was usually flirty and dominant. He’d never let a man call the shots before, but suddenly he was blushing like a virgin schoolgirl.

“Well,” Joshua murmured, amusement in his tone, “maybe not in so many words.” His finger ran through the coarse hairs on Cal’s chest, making several triangular tick marks over Cal’s heart, and then continued down over his twitching abdominals. Then the New Canaanite sat back on his heels and began drawing patterns on Cal’s sinewy thighs.

Cal swallowed hard. He was trembling, barely held up on shaking knees as he imagined what else Joshua could do while he was down there. He bit back a groan when one of the designs snaked around to the inside of his thigh and down toward his knee. Joshua must have known what he was doing to the courier, right? If he didn’t, and the intimate touches weren’t anything more than duty to tradition, things would get very embarrassing once Joshua inevitably noticed Cal’s erection; damn loincloth did nothing to hide involuntary biological response.

Joshua drew a final mark on Cal’s ankle, then sat back and looked up at his face. “There,” he said. “You’re properly dressed now.”

Cal’s face was burning with shame as he stared at the fire that danced atop a torch. He managed a tight, “Thanks.”

Joshua stood and made his way to the slope that led down to the mouth of the cave. “I’ll leave you alone to… compose yourself,” he stated, his tone light and understanding. When Cal finally could bring himself to look at him, he could have sworn he saw Joshua smirk under his bandages. “Your desire flatters me. To be honest, you would have been exactly my type at one time,” he confessed. “These days, I can’t feel much more than pain, but if I could… Well, this evening might have ended a bit differently.”

With that, he left the courier alone in Angel Cave to mull over what he’d said, and to frantically think of things that _weren’t_ Joshua Graham doing dirty, sinful things with him.


End file.
